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“To quote… ‘my own brother didn’t want to be my date.’”
“When did I say that?” It was true, but she couldn’t see herself sharing the information.
“While we were waiting for the car.”
Susan thought back. Much of the trip home was fuzzy. She vaguely remembered growing angry when they passed the ladies’ room and going on a tirade about being single which may have morphed into a drunken pity party.
Oh, man, now she remembered. Stupid Christmas Wishes. “I was drunk. People say and do a lot of foolish things when they are under the influence, as I’m sure you would agree.”
“In vino veritas.”
He flashed a smirk as he reached for his water. “As for the value of my appeal…? There are a lot of women in the UK who would tell you I’ve got plenty.”
“Then why don’t you ask one of them to be your fake girlfriend? Oh, wait, let me guess. Oh, right, they’re all supermodels and party girls.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you? I was trying to lighten the mood.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you clearly need me more than I need you.” Or the way it stung.
“You’re right,” he replied. “I do need you more than you need me.”
Points for honesty. Sitting back, she waited to hear his expanded sales pitch.
“Believe it or not, you would get something tangible out of the relationship,” he told her.
Beyond being able to rub the fake arrangement in Ginger’s and Courtney’s faces—which she had to admit, a part of her found appealing. “How so?”
“If my plan works, the two of us will be in the tabloids and gossip columns, a lot. Both our profiles will be raised.”
“Why would I care about a higher profile?”
“You tell me, Ms. Collier.”
He was appealing to her ego again. It wouldn’t be only the Courtneys and Gingers of the world she’d be showing, it would be the world. The equivalent of a giant ad announcing her desirability. As if she were that lonely.
“What makes you think the tabloids, or anyone for that matter, would believe we were a real couple?” she asked. Simply out of curiosity.
“Are you kidding? Celebrities arrange public relationships all the time in order to sell an image. Remember that pop star who was dating the guy from the Brazilian team? Totally to keep people from knowing he was shagging his equipment manager.”
“No way.”
“It’s the truth. I know the equipment manager.”
Susan remembered seeing the singer on the cover of several magazines at the hair salon talking about finally finding love. She’d been a nobody newcomer before the relationship.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not…?”
“No.”
Not that it mattered. She still wasn’t going to say yes to this silly idea.
“Granted you and I wouldn’t become an international sensation, but, if we do this right, we will get mentioned in the papers. We only need to be together a few months. Long enough for people to believe we are the real deal.”
“Even though we aren’t.”
“Right. But the only people who will know are you and me. Everyone else will think you won me over with your brilliant mind and razor-sharp wit.”
“And, if I say yes—not that I am—how long would we need to play act?”
“Just over a month. At least through the holidays.”
Meaning he would be her “boyfriend” at the Collier’s Christmas Party. Wouldn’t that be interesting? To be part of a couple for once instead of standing around watching everyone else? Even if it was only pretend.
Despite his offered upsides, the idea struck her wrong. Did she really want to spend weeks with a disinterested man just so she could stick it to a few petty witches? Seemed like she should be better than that.
Then there was the obvious.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply date a different category of women instead of subterfuge?”
He looked at her for a second, as though weighing his words, his sensual lips drawn in a frown. “If I were looking to get into a long-term relationship, maybe, but…”
“You don’t have to go on. I get your point.” He was looking to repair an image, not actually change his tastes.
“I’m not asking you to decide this very moment,” he said. “Let’s have some lunch, and you think the idea over. Let me know later on.”
“Thank you.” She doubted food would change her mind, but she’d rather not ruin the mood until after she’d eaten.
In the meantime, she was curious if she still looked like death now that her headache had eased. When the waiter arrived with their food, she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.
Whoever decorated the restaurant had the foresight to install ambient lighting as opposed to fluorescent in the sitting room so women checking the mirror would feel good about their appearance. Unfortunately, all the ambient lighting in the world couldn’t brighten her washed-out complexion. She’d tried to hide the damage with powder and concealer, but the dark circles stubbornly remained. Searching into her bag, she pulled out a compact and touched up her blush. No sense bothering with lipstick since it would only wear off again when she ate. Then she combed her hands through her curls and stepped back.
Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she felt. Tired, and hungover. The jacket was too boxy for her short frame, making her look like a squashed blueberry. People probably thought she was Lewis’s agent or business manager. Certainly not a potential girlfriend. Correction, fake girlfriend.
What made Lewis think the idea would work? No way, people wouldn’t believe they were an item.
Behind her, the door opened and two university-age girls slipped in. Susan immediately envied their long hair which they wore in messy topknots. Envied their cropped sweaters and leggings too. No one would mistake them for a sports agent.
All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to fit. To feel accepted by someone. Anyone. She had a lot to offer, if people would only look.
Don’t be so dramatic, her mother would say. People don’t look if there’s nothing to look at.
Belinda was full of those little bon mots.
Lewis Matolo was offering people something to look at.
Would it be so horrible if the world saw her as someone different? Just for a little while?
Rummaging through her bag, she located a hair tie and forced her curls into a messy bun. Then, she shed her jacket. The black turtleneck wasn’t stylish, but at least the world could see she had a waist.
The world. Susan chewed her lower lip. Was she really that crazy?
Lewis was biting into his egg sandwich when she returned. She tossed her bag on the bench and slid in next to him. “You’ve got a deal.”
CHAPTER THREE
“ARE YOU SURE?”
“Positive,” Susan replied. “You don’t have to keep asking.”
But Lewis felt like he did. They were on their second cup of tea. An entire meal had gone by and he was having trouble processing the fact that she’d agreed to play his girlfriend. “I’m surprised, is all,” he said. Flummoxed was a better word. “You didn’t look very enthusiastic when I pitched the idea.” Which was why, when she’d come back from the washroom and announced she was all in, he’d been floored.
“I’ll admit, the plan sounds insane, but it’s only for a short time, right? Not like you’re proposing marriage or anything.”
“Dating only, I promise.” Marriage was one of those concepts that made his insides squeeze, along with commitment and emotions. As it was, this arrangement would be the longest relationship he’d ever had. Then again, so would anything longer than a three-day weekend.
Her smile seemed to tighten for a second. “Right,” she said, setting her teacup down. “How does this work? Do we draw up contracts? Write out conditions? What does one do in a fake relationship?”
Fortunately, Lewis had given the matter some thought on the off chance she’d agree. “Obviously, the goal is to be seen together in as many different settings as possible. Like a real couple.”
“And we do this until the tabloids notice?” she asked while pouring the last of her tea. “I know you’re considered a tabloid magnet, but that doesn’t seem terribly efficient.”
“You’re right, it’s not. That’s why I’m going to have my agent leak a few discreet comments. We’re also going to have to attend one or two social events where there’s press. Actually, I’ve drawn up a few notes laying out how I think this plan should proceed.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Moving his teacup aside, he smoothed it flat. “We want everyone to see us, but at the same time we want to look subtle—like this is the real deal—so I’ve come up with a progression of steps.”
Susan’s arm pressed against his as she leaned in to get a better view. “Date at a public venue. Attend a society event. Be seen doing coupley Christmas things?” She turned to look at him. “Coupley Christmas things?”
“You know, Christmas shopping or walking in Kew Gardens. Whatever it is women drag their boyfriends to do during the holidays.”
“I see. Clearly, you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Did you think I would invite you to lunch without some kind of plan in mind?” Lewis replied. He wasn’t stupid. If Susan had said yes, he knew a woman like her would expect details. “You’re going to have to start giving me a little more credit.”
Then again, could he blame her? The whole point behind this charade was to prove he had more to offer than being a drunken party boy.
“Considering I didn’t know fake girlfriends really existed until ninety minutes ago, you’ll have to cut me some slack. I do have one question,” she said, tapping her cup. “How can we be sure people—the tabloids—will believe us?”
It was a reasonable question. The honest answer was they couldn’t. Not entirely. “I get the impression that as long as the story gets attention, they—the papers—won’t dig too deep,” he told her. “However, you bring up a point I hadn’t thought about. Lorianne has spies everywhere—it’s how she gets her scoops—so we’ll need to make sure we act like a couple whenever we’re together, even when we think no one’s paying attention.”
“Is that why we’re having lunch in a cozy corner booth? Again, I’m impressed.”
Lewis was flattered. It wasn’t often that the woman he was with complimented his intelligence. Other skills usually took priority. “Thank you,” he said. “Oh, and another thing…we need to keep this arrangement between us. No one but you, me and my agent, Michael, will know. Will that be a problem?”
She shook her head. “I’d already assumed the arrangement would be need-to-know. If it were a problem, I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place.”
Good. They were on the same page.
“What are you doing?”
She’d taken a pen out of her bag and was making notes on the paper. Lewis watched her write the words Christmas Party with a date. “My brother Thomas has informed me that I’m cohosting the corporate Christmas party again this year. I think it’s only fair that my ‘boyfriend’ attend with me.”
“Corporate Christmas party, huh?”
“For employees and other people we do business with. The ad agency, banks, etc.”
He had to admit he’d wondered if she’d insist on some type of work-related couple appearance after her speech last night. “This wouldn’t be to show up those ladies from the bathroom, would it?”
Her shrug was enough of an answer.
Whatever. It was fine with him if she wanted to put a few people in their place. “I’ll mark my calendar. While we’re scheduling, do you need me to play arm candy for any other events? New Year’s Eve? Christmas Day?”
“As it so happens…” She suddenly stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. The Christmas party will be enough.”
“Are you sure?” She was holding back.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now please stop asking that question.” Clicking her pen, she wrote the word Agreed at the top of the page along with her name and the date. When finished, she held out the pen. “Since you didn’t answer my question about a contract, I hope this will do.”
“Seeing as how I would have settled for a handshake…?” He added his signature below hers. It was official: one image makeover in a half dozen assorted steps. Whether it would work was anyone’s guess.
“I now pronounce us a couple,” he announced.
For better or for worse.
What had she gotten herself into? “When you said we were going to watch a basketball game, I thought you meant at a pub,” Susan said. Some quaint place with brick walls and a fireplace. “Not surrounded by twenty thousand spectators at London’s O2 arena.”
She was decidedly overdressed in a pencil skirt and heels. For some insane reason she’d decided to dress daringly. Her way of showing the world she was worthy of Lewis’s attention. Now she felt stupid.
“I didn’t know London even had a basketball team,” she said as they walked up the ramp.
“There’s an entire league,” Lewis answered, “but they don’t play here. This is a special event. Two American teams.”
That explained the crowds. It didn’t explain why he’d chosen a basketball game for their first date though, so she asked.
“Why else? To send a message. I wanted people to see that I’m more than a footballer. I appreciate all sports.”
“Thus broadening your appeal as a broadcaster. Clever.”
“Thank you.”
They stepped out of the ramp into the brightly lit arena filled with people. Susan had been to the O2 before, for concerts, but this was the first time she’d seen it prepped for a sports event. Below them, American basketball players were warming up on the shiny parquet floor. “Our seats are down there,” Lewis said in her ear as he pointed toward the court. His hand molded to the small of her back as he guided her down the steep steps.
They were really doing this. Pretending they were a couple. Her legs began to shake and from more than just navigating the steep stairs in stilettos. She gripped the railing.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Lewis spoke. He looked at her, his brown eyes narrowed in concern. “Sorry. I—It just dawned on me that we’re on a date.”
“You’re only figuring that out now?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really,” he replied.
Until this moment, their arrangement had been conceptual. She hadn’t thought about the fact that in order to be taken for a real couple, they would have to behave like a real couple. Which made this evening a date complete with all the touching and other date-like behavior. Lewis was going to have to pretend he was attracted to her. Did he really think they could pull this off?
They were blocking the stairs. That was one way to attract attention. “Never mind,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If you say so.”
Their seats were in the middle of the row, close to the front, but high enough they could see the entire court. They also had a clear view of the giant electronic screen that hung over center court. It was like having a one-hundred-inch television in your living room.
She looked around at the people milling about. “I doubt anyone will notice us in this crowd,” she commented.
“Oh, they’ll notice us,” Lewis replied. He leaned closer, his nose practically nuzzling the outer shell of her ear. “My agent has arranged for us to be outed after the third quarter.”
Outed? This time she had to lean into him. “What do you mean?”
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